


Impasse

by Spiria



Category: Tales of Xillia
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1307119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiria/pseuds/Spiria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two instances where Wingul, after a long stalemate, makes progress at long last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impasse

**Author's Note:**

> For innogium: "Gaius and Wingul doing something fun together." Somehow, their sense of fun became a little warped and more dramatic.

The light outside had long retired to usher in the darkness of night, into which even the sheets of snow blanketing the land retreated. Within the castle, however, the halls glowed dimly and echoed with the clinking of armor as soldiers bounded about with purpose. The King's chamber, too, bore the same warmth, though there was the absence of noise, and, rather, the presence of peace.

Gaius had retired early on settling affairs of state, after which he had suggested a long-due game of shogi. He now sat cross-legged in his chamber, across Wingul, whose legs were folded under him, as they pressed their attention on the board between them. Prying Wingul from additional matters of political import had been, to a suspicious degree, a simple task.

"The unruly tribes have begun to settle," he started, laying down a piece. He was looked upon by Gaius, who squared his shoulders.

"Wingul," said Gaius, "that is not what we're here to do."

Gaius studied the board, the click of a piece being placed signaling his turn.

From there the pattern continued, one ending his turn swiftly as the other responded in kind. They had played the game for well over a decade, and the fluidity and precision with which they maneuvered the imaginary troops told of their experience, such that Wingul, amid the formulation of his next move, kept his dull tone of voice with no visible effort.

"The calm before the storm. They're sheltering their strength and building upon that reserve. More importantly, our subjects tell me that you left the castle alone," he said.

"Indeed. You were away, so I couldn't tell you," said Gaius.

"You should have waited," admonished Wingul.

"It was a time-sensitive matter. You should know, I spent the morning looking for you."

"Ill-spent time. It's busiest in the day. Surely you knew the consequences of your actions."

Something that had never been as prominent a problem in the olden days, Wingul thought, for Gaius had been rooted where his men could consult him. There were only so many places a man could venture in an encampment, much less beyond its perimeters teeming with hostile forces. These days, a king possessed no such boundaries in the context of his entire country.

"Is this a lecture?" asked Gaius in jest. It was the kind which Wingul alone could understand, a comprehension built upon years of exposure to an otherwise stolid face.

"Yes," said Wingul, his words clipped and gaze pointed, "and if you would listen, this wouldn't be a regular occurrence. You striking out on your own is far riskier than is necessary. Should this happen again, at least bring Presa."

With a thoughtful look, Gaius folded his arms. "Presa?"

"I have already spoken with her on the matter," said Wingul. "The turn is yours, Your Highness."

"If I remember correctly, she's been occupied. Perhaps I'll bring Agria," said Gaius, unfolding his arms to reach for a piece.

Wingul stirred, his thin brows furrowing with the slightest narrowing of his eyes. He cast his gaze down at the board. "Agria's mission affords her even fewer opportunities to return than Presa."

"Then it must be Jiao," said Gaius. On inspecting the board, the corners of his mouth upturned. "Ah, this is aggressive, even for you. A new tactic, Wingul?"

Neither favored numbers over power more than he did the opposite. But Gaius, per his nature, was more prominent in the school of thought of bolstering ranks than Wingul, who was predisposed to nurturing the select few. Where shogi was concerned, frequently, Wingul's pieces fell into Gaius' hands, though this did little to deter the former's success in securing a checkmate.

Wingul, Gaius knew, possessed a peculiar obsession with the notion of trapping the king, of a victory without room for error. To that end, Wingul achieved the ironic mixture of someone who was meticulous beyond the ordinary, but reckless in his pursuit of perfection. His strange tendency had a penchant for bleeding into all things.

Tapping the corner of the board, Gaius deliberated, unfazed by the quiet wrath he had incurred, and retaliated. "I recall a time when you played more conservatively," he said, "but now your moves are faster."

"That was a long time ago," said Wingul, his affect flat as he studied the board.

Gaius nodded. "Of course. The speed, at this level, is to be expected. That is," he trailed off, searching, "like the winds that you manipulate."

On ending his turn, Wingul glanced up, unimpressed. A glint shone in his visible eye. "You," he started, "play akin to what lies on the mountaintop."

"The mountaintop?" echoed Gaius.

"Snow. The all-encompassing avalanche that wipes out its opposition in one fell swoop. Although you move at nearly the same pace now as you did then, your strength precisely lies in that relentless approach. In shogi, you become immovable."

Ever one to have a way with words, Wingul gestured to the board. Gaius' pieces, original and captured, numbered greater than those of Wingul's and were placed in the manner that they appeared as a whole unit rather than one by itself. Coupled with what was just said, the scenario could have looked fabricated.

"Excellent as always, Wingul," praised Gaius, smiling. "I wonder if you have time for another anthology. It has been a while since I saw your work."

Fixing Gaius a phlegmatic stare, Wingul said, "You were of a different opinion earlier."

To which Gaius' face fell, replaced by something indignant. "That song was not poetry!" he said, vehemently – reprimanding. At the same time, words of the commercial song seeped into his mind, taunting.

Wingul snorted and shook his head, in the assured but dainty way that he would, as stray strands of hair cascaded over his face, from which some of the tension had subsided in favor of contained amusement.

"I was serious," continued Gaius on regaining his bearings. "Your usual works possess a poignant appeal."

"'Poignant,'" echoed Wingul. There was a pregnant pause. "That was not my intent."

"No, but I enjoy them regardless. Wingul. Do you truly not believe that the sadness conveyed in your words have another purpose?" Gaius squared his shoulders, the game of shogi forgotten. "The anthologies that I have read – it reminds me of what lies beyond the battlefield after the carnage. Do you know what that is?"

When Wingul gave him nothing but an expecting glance, it was Gaius who snorted this time.

"It is hope. The expectation that something greater is to come," said Gaius.

"Then the anthologies, as of now, bear no meaning," said Wingul, all traces of his trivial grudge absent.

Gaius scowled as he asked.

"Those works are merely perceived that way, because you, Gaius, are the very embodiment of such hope. To your people, there is no one, or thing, worthier of the recognition. When this is now common fact, it follows what I've written have come to state the obvious. They have lost any poetic edge they may have possessed in the start."

"I disagree. Now is no more inferior to the past," said Gaius.

They sat opposite each other in position of mind and body in that moment, their steady gazes locked, challenging. At last, Wingul dipped his head in a show of lacking commitment.

"You still need to make your move," he reminded, spurring Gaius into action, albeit, too, in silence.

For a few turns, no words were exchanged. Whereas Wingul had lost his muse, Gaius was in a state of hardheaded determination (or stubbornness), and the game edged closer to a foreseeable climax when Wingul, all of a sudden, inclined his head to the side. He leveled an appraising look at Gaius.

"Shall I recite?"

At Gaius' coy smile, Wingul's quiet but commanding voice, neutral and natural like the caressing breeze, set a calming mood as he laid down the words from memory, as well as his pieces. And though the performance was short-lived, with the shogi ending on an impasse, the peace in the King's chamber highlighted the moment where Gaius drew back to their initial subject.

"One day, I would not mind accompanying you on your various businesses."

It was not the ideal answer, which would have been the opposite. But though Wingul did not reply, it was a hopeful night, indeed.


	2. Silence Is Maddening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Yume, on the time when family relations were truly strained in the Long Dau tribe with his uncles ignoring Lin.

There was no good in having a chief if nobody listened to him. There was no good in having a brain if nobody heeded it.

Long Dau may as well have been led by a trio of monkeys, if not worse. The lot of them were witless, basing their shoddy tactics on brute strength and instinct readable from miles away and over. They were better off charging in by themselves, like cattle for slaughter, without bringing the rest of the tribe down. At least then Long Dau could be cured of a primitive kind of disease, which held them hostage insofar that Taurus seemed but a single thorn in their side, albeit poisonous.

Lin's blood boiled and pumped against his porcelain skin as he watched his uncles argue.

His own tribe thought him no stronger than them, but rather much weaker, even though he could see then and there all the flaws in their suggested formation. Lin had pointed out the first error on sight. He was summarily brushed aside as the boy with clean hands in the war meeting. He had no idea what it was like on the battlefield, they explained with a bark of bitter laughter, where the men with red hands triumphed.

He had none, but he had read the books and witnessed countless accounts on his time. His hands were still clean, however, and so his words fell on deaf ears as his uncles disabused his ideas. It was only a matter of time before he became a mute to everyone but himself.

There was no energy left to rant in the nights. Lin sat down in his chambers, spent, and turned away from Nils' worried queries every time. There was no gain in confiding in Nils, who had the patience and understanding but lacked the authority to help him.

In the first place, a chief should not have needed help to assert his will. Lin bore the shame with pursed, thin lips. He bit down on the crackling fury of the laughable injustice with his expression set flat. He had been done in like a child, robbed of his right to lead and mocked like he had lost a precious toy to his elders instead.

Yan, Ingo, and Bruno were traitors who betrayed their tribe to greedy vengeance. They were upstarts who left their patriarch to the muted dust, after everything was said and done, with nothing but the silence left under his rule.

Gaius held not the flicker of a candle against the silence, but as the catalyst who fanned the small ember of rebellion, Lin judged him no less guilty. Gaius was the rot in the root that had spread and continued to unfurl, and his corruption had touched the old warriors and turned them into traitors like himself.

Lin held no love for traitors. He held no affection for the silence, either, and he was mad, driven to a corner with no way out, for he was a child who dabbled in books and turned the sword awkwardly in his hands.

On the eve of a fateful battle, his mind clawed at itself, screaming without sound into the silence as Lin held his head in his hands, disturbed by the severeness of his racing thoughts. He was ill in spirit and bedridden, but did not recover with rest, even as they marched into battle without him. He was too weak and valuable to partake in the event of men.

When the surviving troops returned with neither Yan nor Ingo, Lin left his bed and pushed. The corner gave way, and he stole away to the war meeting with measured steps.


End file.
